


Universe Of Us

by Kingfisherwoes



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), space
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 10:12:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18754336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kingfisherwoes/pseuds/Kingfisherwoes
Summary: It's was a night were Peter wasn't all together sure what really happened. There wasn't a hasty written journal entry or a photograph to prove it. Just memories, like colored glass shards in a kaleidoscope.Set Post-Infinity War and beginning of Endgame. Slight spoiling, but will stray from cannon. Rating will rise!





	Universe Of Us

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This story will have some Endgame spoils ahead, but I'm also straying from the movie as well. I hope you enjoy! Tags will be added with each new chapter. :)
> 
> Special thanks to Spade_Storm & feyrelay for taking the time to edit. Any remaining mistakes are mine. :)

_With a defiant snap, half of the world turns to ash._

Without Thanos, there is a sense of eerie calm, like an intangible flame that ignites throughout the terrain. Titan is a place where no illuminating hue takes place or the suffocating smell of smoke. It’s only the aftermath of a fiery wasteland, a crumbling world beneath Peter’s feet. Where particles of ash, maneuver through the wind its only purpose is to find a suitable resting place.

Some storms change the skyline, leaving patches of blue and purple, a half-hearted design of a painter using their fingers to smudge across a dark canvas. It’s supposed to be a sense of calm, an exposure to rebirth. Things dried up by the sun become replenished ready to be vibrant and welcomed by the sun again.

Here on this destructive world, the storms do not lessen beyond the horizon. The skyline still coats itself with a sense of a dimming ember, as lightning splits the sky throughout the atmosphere, leaving a low rumble in its wake. The wind never lets up and coats his mouth and nose with a foul, sulfurous smell.

“Pete?”

He almost doesn’t hear it, the way the man’s voice sounds like a bullfrog on its last croak. It is torn and hesitant, so unlike the man. It makes Peter think that it’s a fabrication inside his mind. It’s funny that way, his mind, playing tricks on him. His shoulders feel weighed down, like someone's hands are griping down on the handle bars of a bike.  

“Pete?”

_That sorta sounds like him._

Behind his closed lips, Peter’s tongue lays still. His mind wraps around the idea of speaking, yet nothing verbal comes out. His eyes instead follow the train of dancing ash down towards his shoes.

_Please don't rest here._

His pleas mean nothing as a fine layer of ash settles against the red armor. It causes an imperfection on the suit, this ridiculously intuitive suit. Peter rubs at the back of his neck, the metal covering his hand catches on his exposed skin. It pricks up his spine with slight stings. A natural way for his body to tell him to stop, but his uneasiness outweighs the warnings, and he continues to rub until it’s raw.

This suit may keep him safe, but he did nothing to deserve it. There are already scratches in areas, dents from the battle, and he wonders if Mr. Stark will be upset with him. Upset that Peter is the one that caused Thanos to snap his fingers. If only he got that gauntlet off sooner.

_Of course Mr. Stark blames you. You can never do anything right._

Nausea sweeps him in, wave after wave, leaving him without any chance to collect himself. Bile accumulates at the back of his throat, painful for him to swallow it down. His stomach, once calm, now agitates and grumbles like the off-centered world around him.

There’s a pressure filling his head like he’s involuntary upside down. The heavy feeling reminds him vaguely of the little girl’s adventures in _Wonderland_. His thoughts race on the idea that if he did fall through a rabbit hole and find himself in a room with no doors or windows if he’d become mistaken about what was up or down. What was left and what was right?

Confusion wraps around him tightly as he stumbles backward about to lose his balance. He throws out his arms to regain some control and lets out a sharp gasp. These weird thoughts weren’t healthy. He shouldn’t feel this way; it didn’t feel right.

_Thanos could come back, and if he does, he’ll finish Mr. Stark off._

_Get back to Mr. Stark!_

These racing thoughts of warnings weigh him down, all the things his instincts try to prepare him, yet he loses them in an instant to the enormity of what he feels. The guilt is too much to process through, and he keeps losing his concentration on random things. Things that don’t even matter.

“Stay steady for me, Peter!”

The wave of sickness hits Peter like a tsunami, making his balance teeter like if he sways one way, he’ll crash on the ground. Peter takes a deep breath through his nose, anything to calm the uneasiness in his stomach. Though, it does nothing to stop the tingles in his body how it feels like needles were poking him nonstop in his hands.

“You’re okay.”

Peter’s mouth fills with saliva as his stomach launches forward. He quickly slaps a hand over his mouth and slowly shakes his head. The world sways around him.

_-Don’t lock your knees._

_-Keep breathing._

_-Don’t pass out._

_-Get to Mr. Stark!_

_-maybe sit down._

Somehow through the rocky vision, Peter’s sight fixates back on his feet. He watches as his vision sways as the pile of ash drifts upward and floats lazily a few inches away. His thoughts racing through the dizziness-

_Who could that have been?_

It’s a mistake, but it’s too late to stop the images of the very people who were just around him. Their smiles platonic as madness took them over. All covered in soot and decomposing around him.

“Start answering me, kid!”

Peter knows if he answers the man behind him, takes his hand off his mouth for a second, anything and everything will empty out of his system. Not that there is much left in there anyhow, but Peter knows he needs to keep his strength. They may be alone now, but who knows how long that may last.

“Peter-?”

It’s the way Mr. Stark’s voice cracks while saying the syllables in his name that gets to him. It circulates with desperation, making Peter want to draw the man in. Does Mr. Stark think Peter will disappear too? Or was he about to leave Peter here alone? Would he become stardust like the others?

Peter shifts slightly, breathing heavily through his nose, unable to vocally respond at the moment, which upsets Peter, knowing that it’ll trigger Mr. Stark into a frenzy.

_Don’t do this to him._

“Peter, come back here.” Mr. Stark finishes after clearing his throat. Though, it does nothing to fix how the man has to strain to use his voice.

_Mr. Stark’s still here. Mr. Stark’s not gone. You’re not gone, Peter. Do something!_

Peter tries to pry his mouth open to make a sound, but nothing comes out. It stuns him as the feeling of needle pricks under his skin becomes more intense. What can he do? Aside from standing there and trying not to vomit.

“Pete?”

Peter shivers at the sound of his name. He wants to turn toward Mr. Stark's voice, but he can’t move. He is struck by fear as his mind’s eye processes how the band of misfits who were with him just a few moments ago is now floating into the universe. Disappeared. There is no trace of what they were before -- like they never even existed.

“Peter, I can’t get to you, because of my side. So, you need to come to me.”

_Move! Snap out of it!_

A small voice inside his head tries to rationalize what he needs to do, but he is stuck still. Unable to turn back. He is overthrown by what he witnessed, trying to calculate probabilities in his head. His eyes are wandering up again to watch the brewing storm.

“ _PETER_ _!_ ”

This cry of intense yearning shakes Peter awake and forces him to look away from the destruction. He cranes his neck towards the man then twists his body, taking a step forward as he moves his hands off his mouth and out towards his chest, a way to steady himself if he were to fall.

“You’re alright.” Mr. Stark assures, beckoning Peter towards him with his outstretched arm. “Just a few steps more.”

“I-” Peter chokes out, hands curling and uncurling as he stares down at them. His chest is falling as he breathes in hollow and short. The feeling of moth wings flutters against his insides.

It’s spastic and violently familiar. It’s the feeling right before terror ensures, making his hair stand on end. His senses dial in. The urge to protect and defend is strong, but how can he? Not with how he feels like he is going to collapse at any given second.

_Am I going to disappear too?_

“Keep breathing, Pete. I need you.” Mr. Stark says, sounding distorted around the thundering in Peter’s eardrums. “Get over here so I can help.”

Peter makes a whimpering sound, squeezing his eyes shut. He is overstimulated and needs to focus on one thing. It only takes a moment for Peter to realize the thundering in his chest wasn’t an homage to his spidey sense, but that of pure anxiety and confusion. It claws at the edges of his brain, sending waves of an icy river trickling down the length of his spine.

Peter clenches his hands tightly toward his sides as he struggles to comprehend this new and frightful development. A dimming thought raced throughout his mind, echoing through the midst of his blind panic. It told him, with chilling certainty, that nothing would be the same again, that this is his fault.

_You’re only a child. Just a naive child._

It’s the truth in those words that weighs Peter down further into a haze. He didn't want to leave. He couldn't leave Mr. Stark here alone. But he couldn’t even focus let alone carry out a simple task his mentor asked of him. Why is he feeling like this? What exactly is going on?

There’s the security with which a hand wraps around Peter’s bicep that pulls a gasp out past his lips. It pinches through the armor that almost brings Peter back to himself. He loses his footing, collapsing on the stable weight in front of him. Mr. Stark is alive, full, and real.

_This is real._

_This is real._

“You’re alright.” Mr. Stark says, reassuring him as he has done before. He rubs his hands against Peter’s shoulders, and it helps a little bit to loosen his tongue.

“I don’t. I don’t know what’s happening,” Peter confesses, staring at his shaking hands as dark spots dance just beyond his vision. The pressure inside builds and rapidly expands. He’s unable to explain where it’s even coming from. This is all new, and he cannot break the grip of pure panic taking hold.

“Kid-”

Water collects and begins to prickle at the sides of Peter’s eyes as he swallows down a lump that has made its home in his throat. He doesn’t want to cry, this wasn’t a place to cry.

“Mm-Mr. Stark?”

A shot of pain wraps around his insides, as he struggles to find his voice around the blockade in his mouth. “I don’t feel so good.”

It’s like the intensity of a bee sting on repeat. Peter’s body cringes down on itself in a series of shivers on its own accord. Everything has dialed to eleven.

“Peter, you’re okay.”

At the sound of his name, doe eyes snap upward in terror as they struggle to latch onto Tony’s dark eyes. Peter vaguely can tell the way the man’s eyes darted back and forth like they were searching for knowledge, for information Peter can’t give as that lump expands, leaving the boy’s bottom lip trembling.

“I can’t,” Peter swallows down the air around him... though the air seemed to be coming in short supply. “I can’t breathe, um-” He coughs, squeezing his eyes shut, clenching his hands together, and, “...I don’t feel so good.”

“Sit here with me.” Mr. Stark says, pulling Peter down on the broken remains of Titan. Knees weak and willing, Peter hits the uneven ground with a thud. The slight pain he feels in his knees helps, how he can now focus on the older man’s breathing, help him listen to Mr. Stark’s voice even though it sounds quiet to his ears --

_Why was Mr. Stark being so quiet?_

“You're going to be okay,” he promises.

“I don't feel so good-” Peter repeats.

“You don’t feel good because you're having a panic attack.”

_That -that makes sense._

“Breathe with me.”

It’s a simple request. Only to Peter, it feels like he is gasping for air. There’s a sigh of relief he is yearning for, but it’s stuck between his lungs, desperate to be let out. Try as he may, it just holds itself there. His vision is still swaying as his eyes drift at the lost ashen world around him.

“Peter, keep your eyes on mine.”

At this small order, Peter blinks back towards the man, his stomach fluttering as he tries to ask the burning question, “Am I-?”

“You’re here with me,” Mr. Stark answers “You’re not going anywhere.”

His voice brings a glimmer of hope to Peter’s distraught mind. His hand is calloused from the many years of tinkering, and it cards and cradles into Peter’s damp hair. It’s odd how easily it calms Peter down as Mr. Stark picks at the curls that stick to his wet forehead, how it sends shockwaves of comfort throughout his body.

The other hand wraps around Peter’s wrist and holds it against the older man’s chest. Peter can feel the steady rise and fall against his hand. He curls his fingers slightly around the housing unit of nanoparticles as a way to comfort himself further.

“Easy, Pete.” Mr. Stark says, cradling the back of Peter’s head. Peter, leaning his head back to rest against the man’s open palm, has his eyes still locked on Mr. Stark’s. “Breathe for me.”

_Breathing is natural, Peter. You can do that._

“In and out.” Mr. Stark says, breathing in deep for Peter to follow him. “Just in and out. That’s it.”

Peter blinks as a haze settles in his eyes, locking again on the man above him. His breathing rhythm evens out and falls silent.

“Good boy.” Mr. Stark smiles slightly, pulling his hand down to Peter’s cheek.

They sit there for a moment, unmoving as the wind picks up and tosses their hair around. The curls flop down and stick to Peter’s damp forehead, but he doesn’t dare move. Not with Mr. Stark’s hand still wrapped firmly around his wrist. Not with how the man’s eyes -- red around the rims -- shift in concern as his gaze bores into Peter’s face.

 Mr. Stark shifts his hold on Peter’s face and pokes at a tender spot on Peter’s lip. His wounds were taking longer than usual to heal. Which must have made Mr. Stark concerned as he pulled Peter’s lip out with his thumb, accessing the damage done by the enraged Titan. It’s still tender, and it excites a small hiss from Peter, as he tries to jerk his head away.

“Shh,” Mr. Stark hushes, readjusting his hold on Peter’s head, his fingers threading along the nape of Peter’s neck and tilting the boy’s face towards the light. “Let me see the damage. Just keep breathing normally.”

Peter remains silent, his hand still against the man’s chest, feeling the drumming against his palm. The beat made up all its own of a man made from steel and in the irony of it all causes Peter to recount the famous rock song inside his head.

It’s enough to catch him off guard, and without warning, Mr. Stark pinches the skin at his cheek with his thumb and forefinger, twisting it slightly to the side.

“Ouch!” Peter cries as the sharp sting of the man’s fingers bites into his skin. He pulls his face away, furrowing his brows, “What the hell?”

“Just trying to bring you back to reality,” Mr. Stark confesses, his face now showing how exhausted his is. “That sharp sting will snap you out of your head. It’ll ground you and make you stay present. It’s what _I_ have to do.”

Mr. Stark’s panic attacks... _How could you forget, Peter?_

“Oh,” Peter says softly. He begins to see the logic behind the idea and is filled with a spark of hope. He rubs the sore spot and mutters, “Thank you.”

Mr. Stark grimaces, setting his hand on Peter’s shoulder, ”Just stay with me, Pete. I'm going to need you. It’s going to take a lot to get ourselves back on Earth.”

Peter nods as Mr. Stark pulls him in closer towards his chest. The light from the arc reactor acts as a beacon for Peter to keep his sights on.

They sit there for awhile -- Peter lost in these sensations -- until his heartbeat starts to normalize.

“I wish I had some chocolate,” Mr. Stark confesses. Peter is now sitting upright on his own while flexing his fingers. He still feels weightless, but it’s a lot better than what he had been feeling.

Mr. Stark groans as he pulls himself upward to stand. The man’s joints crack in Peter’s ears, and he absently glances up.

“Some good ol’ chocolate would do the trick,” the man says, smiling down at Peter.

Peter pauses his actions of bending his fingers and knits his eyebrows together. “Why?”

“For you to get some sugar in you. It would help. Maybe for myself too. Who knows? It’s just wishful thinking,” Mr. Stark admits, reaching down to help Peter to his feet.

It’s in the way the man leans over the slight grimace he cannot hide as Peter’s eyes trail down to the man’s outstretched hand towards the torn fabric crusted over with blood. The suture spray made from the man’s nanoparticles stitched the wound closed; for how long, Peter isn’t sure. He can tell it’s deep and has started to inflame around the edges. That if there’s any more strain on the wound it will make it ooze with blood.

Mr. Stark catches Peter’s gaze, locked on the wound, and tries to cover it up with his hand. “It’s not as bad as it looks, kid. I’ve had a lot worse.”

Peter moves his eyes towards the older man’s face, catching a smile that curves his lips upward. It honestly shouldn’t, but it makes Peter flush as he glances away at the destruction around them. He didn’t deserve the man’s kindness, not after the meltdown he just had.

“How are we getting home?”

“That,” Mr. Stark said, placing his hand back to his side, “is a good question. That I don’t have an answer to, but-” The man starts to look just beyond Peter. “That pile of junk might be a good place to start.”

Peter pulls himself up to his feet his slowly and deeply, not understanding why he was still feeling weak and shivery. It was like he was recovering from the flu, but he hadn’t gotten sick like that in a long time... way before the spider bite.

_If only you were quick enough to get that gauntlet off._

_It’s your fault we’re in this mess._

If Peter is honest, he’d admit that he was too worried about Mr. Stark’s approval and about what the man might do when they would win. He had gotten distracted shouting out his excitement as the metal came loose. In that moment of weakness was the cause of their failure.

Peter pressed his knuckles against his cheek as his eyes began to water. He couldn’t start crying here. There was too much to be done. It didn’t matter that he was exhausted or that he felt drained. He had a job to do, and he had to keep going for Mr. Stark.

He follows the man toward the massive ship that is just a few feet away. It was entirely coated in orange dust and seemed large enough to not only hold the pair of them but many others. Not that they currently had any other travelers with them.

_Good job, Parker._

Peter bits down hard inside his cheek, clenching his fists together as he takes a few more steps forward only to trip over his own feet and stumble to keep his balance.

“You alright back there?” Mr. Stark asks, glancing back at Peter. No doubt hearing the sudden cry escape Peter’s lips. Peter nods shuffling his foot out his cheeks growing warm under the man’s stare.

“Well, come on..” The man holds out his arm, his fingers wiggling to have Peter grasp hold onto him. Which only adds to the growing embarrassment.

_He only treats you like a child. There is nothing wrong with you, Peter. This man was practically impaled, and he’s showing more strength than you. Why are you like this? Grow up!_

“I-I’m sorry.” He confessed, crossing his arms against his chest and hurriedly made his way towards the older man. “I think I tripped over something.”

Peter catches the grimace on Mr. Stark’s face which only adds to his insecurities.

“Yeah, there’s a lot of crap around here. Watch your step.”

It was like Peter couldn’t do anything right. He begins to gnaw on the inside of his cheek missing Mr. Stark’s eyes on him. Peter only makes it a step further until the man pulls him towards his chest. Mr. Stark places his chin on top of Peter’s head and embraces him tightly.

_Why can’t you do anything right?_

“I need you to be strong, okay? Keep focused? Once we can get this ship up and running, I’ll find something for us to snack on. Then you can rest for a bit, okay?”

 _Translation_ , Peter thought, gnawing on a patch of dry skin on his lips. _He wants me to stop being useless. Take a nap like a child._

“Y-yeah, I can do that,” Peter responds, pulling slightly away from the man. Who just holds on tighter, “But you’ll need to rest more than me.”

When Mr. Stark doesn’t answer him, Peter takes a deep breath in, his nose wrinkling at the smell. The ripeness of sweat coming off the man mixed in with the dirt and ash made it hard to inhale, except for the slight hint of citrus that Peter could never quite place, but he could always smell on the man.

As if Mr. Stark didn’t have enough on his plate. He has to deal with a broken teenager as well. Peter’s stomach churned again. He knew the more exhausted he is, the more emotional he is prone to be, but this isn’t the time or the place. He already wasted time earlier, a precious time he could’ve spent on taking care of Mr. Stark.

Mr. Stark is the one that needs this attention. Not himself.

_Stop being selfish!_

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Peter admits, scrubbing his eyes to get rid of the building wetness.

“Why, because you tripped?” Mr. Stark chuckles, making Peter’s head bounce slightly against his chest, “Kid, you should’ve seen my spring break back in 1995. I could barely even crawl. The whole time I had people pass me along like some toddler. Eh, wait that’s a bad analogy. Hold on let me think of something better.”

Peter shakes his head, “No, it’s not about that. I’m just sorry that I didn’t do a better job. That I didn’t do more than what I coul-should have done.”

Mr. Stark sighs, pulling Peter away from him, trying to catch his downcast eyes. Only Peter couldn’t look at the man properly couldn’t see the disappointment there. He instead stares at the man’s stubble, a mix between grey and black. There’s a small gash on the man’s chin that follows up to his cheek, and it churns Peter’s stomach.

That’s his fault.

“There’s nothing you should be apologizing for-”

“Yes, there is-!” Peter says, but stops, his eyes catching the darkness like burned coal in the older man’s eyes. The way the man’s face grows stern always makes Peter snap his mouth closed. It’s a look of pure dominance.

“No, Peter,” Mr. Stark starts, wrapping his hands around Peter’s biceps and squeezing. It isn’t too harsh, and Peter can easily wiggle himself away, but he doesn’t. Not with the man’s eyes on him like that, “as I said, I need you to listen to me. This isn’t the time to overthink things. We have no idea what or who might come back. We have to work together on this. I need you, okay?”

Peter can barely open his mouth to object before Mr. Stark cuts him off again. His hands were squeezing more tightly.

“We can talk about this more when I know we’re safe. Let's say from here until we're on Earth you're going to listen to me and do as I say, no fighting and no going off on your own. This isn’t Coney Island or those midnight patrols. I’m tightening the reins here, kid. You're going to listen to me no matter what. My first and only priority is to get you back home, Peter.”

Peter’s slightly taken aback as his stomach plummets downward. Mr. Stark is right, but it doesn’t matter what age Peter is. The man still sees him as a child, not that Peter proved him wrong today, anyhow. Not with all those mistakes he took part in. But it’s enough for Peter to bite down on his swollen lip, knowing he didn’t have any other choice.

“I-”

“Just promise me,” Mr. Stark says, moving his hands to clasp down onto Peter’s shoulders. The look that he gives Peter is that of real urgency, leaving nothing but defeat in Peter, who nods slightly.

If this is what Mr. Stark wants, Peter can do that for him. He has to.

“I promise, sir.”

**. . .**

As a child, Tony always ventured to see the dark between the stars. What might lead to the things he could not see. While reaching up, fingers spread wide, straining toward the twinkling lights that were miles away.

There was no sense of distress nothing to set his fear ablaze. Just a sense of wonder. Over the years, his curiosity manifested into things that were tangible. Things he could morph and change with his hands. Nothing that resembles a childish imagination.

Howard Stark made sure of that.

Tony is a man that sticks with _real_ things, with facts and figures. Where information stays in its place. Where no guessing games were played.

But being here, in hyperspace, reels Tony’s mind of the many things he doesn’t know. How can he? If someone told him this fifteen years ago, about all the things he’d witness for the years to come. Tony would laugh in their face. Ask what kind of acid trip they were on and if they could share.

_What a fucking joke I used to be._

Tony reaches over to dial up the volume on the stereo, letting the sounds of rhythm and blues take over the ship’s sound system. Anything to drown out his voice and to keep Peter where Tony left him. In Quill’s bunker fast asleep, swimming in clothes he found after rummaging through the Star-Lad’s room. Clean from some intergalactic version of a shower. Hair curled, framing his content face. Eyes closed, shifting back and forth. Lost to whatever world he was dreaming up.

All in all Peter at the moment is safe.

“This thing on?”

Tony taps on the broken shell of what is left of his helmet. A pitiful battered mess that reminds him of his mistakes.

“Hey, Miss Potts.” He lets out a sigh, the pain in his side always seems to intensify anytime he’s trying to do something important. Tony lets out a quiet laugh that doesn’t help matters, as he adds into the recording about not posting it to social media.

“Look, I have no idea if you’ll get this. Or any of the other recordings for that matter, but-” Tony lets out a heavy sigh, making sure through the chorus of The Temptations singing _My Girl_ drowns out his words.

“-today’s the twentieth no it’s the twenty-first, anyway. I’m trying to get us home.”

Tony rubbed his eyes there are a million and ten things from the subatomic to the cosmic that can rattle his nerves on a daily basis, and one of those things is being useless. Maybe that’s what fate has intended for him all along.

“Food and water are running out. Hey, why not the oxygen tank too-”

This isn’t the time to be funny.

“Thing is, we’re in this void, unmoving here in the cosmos, and I’m not trying to be poetic.”

The music dies down, echoing as a new song picks up. He closes his eyes and continues,

“Listen, Pepper, I-” Tony pauses, his breathing hitches as the pressure builds, tight in his chest. He brings his fingers to his slender wrist. All the meat and muscle gone from the lack of nutrition and pinches the skin. The pain stings through him, lessening the tension in his chest. “Fuck,” He curses softly, Pepper didn’t need to hear him like that. No one did.

“I told him… I promised that I’d-”

Tony trails off, breathing deeply as voices of a British band wash over him.

_~Let it be-_

_Whisper words of wisdom-_

_Let it be._

“Pete’s going home, no matter what.” Tony said, his voice stronger that before, “He’s got his aunt and friends back home in Queens. Pep, if I don’t make it. I need you and Happy to make sure they’re taken care of. Damn this kid, wiggled right into a special place with me. He’s so smart and strong. Just so much better than me. Better than all of us and I don’t even think the kid knows it.”

A bubble of laughter escapes deep from Tony’s chest out through his raw throat. It’s short and follows by a silence as Tony lets the song echo throughout the cabin. He needs to gather the last of his thoughts.

“I haven’t told him,” he finally said, “About the air shortage, I mean. The other, too, man the kid needs to hear it. Not just from me. But back about the air. I can’t decide if not knowing would be kind of cruel.” Tony let out a snort, “I should, shouldn’t I? I know if I do. The kid will find a way to grow some kind of garden in the cockpit.”

After the Beatles song faded away replaced with a song Tony is unfamiliar with. He taps his fingers against his knuckles, staring at the broken helmet. “I’ve got one more trick up my sleeve, Pep. Peter’s getting home one way or another. I just have to figure out the how.”

* * *

_Part of the journey is the end._

Tony has taken to wearing his father’s hand-me-down anger. Though he wishes he hasn’t. It’s a few sizes too big and he’s sure it doesn’t fit him properly, it hangs loose in all the wrong places. Yet, this fuel rod of fury narrows down his thinking. Lets him obsess over the only task left for him to complete.

He’s sore all over. Back and neck straining as he rolls out his shoulders and continues, tinkering with a mainframe. With all this useless junk around this broken vessel, Tony’s able to construct a single pod ship. It’ll send Peter back home and he’ll be able continue with his life. Tony’s already packed what remains of the little food and water for the kid’s trip. If he’s calculations were correct and they always were. Peter will land safely near the Avengers base, and all of this will be a distant memory.

It was a well constructed lie, getting Peter to work with him. Constant questions, conversations about doubt and wonder that flew out of Peter’s mouth churned something in Tony that he hadn’t seen in a long time.

It was like a trail of poison Tony spoon fed Peter, using manipulation and lying through his teeth to make it seem like Peter and himself will be able to sail away on this thing together, but it was a small price to pay. It was honestly exhilarating watching Peter work on something with all his heart. Reminds him of their time spent in in the labs. There is this light that crosses over Peter when he works on something he’s passionate about.

Is it that terrible that Tony wants to witness that?

After today, Peter will live out a long healthy life and for Tony? He’ll be able to drift off to sleep. His thoughts on nothing but hope for the kid to reunite with his aunt, and to stay safe. Pepper safe from harm accompanied with Happy in the lake house Tony had gotten a few years back. A broken promise he made Pepper about starting a new life with her. Seems fitting that he always breaks his promises. --But that’s not something he needs to be thinking about now.

There’s just the hope that Steve Rogers hadn’t disappeared, because if anyone was going to take down that giant purple thumb, it was that colorful patriot. All Tony needs to worry about is to save Peter. That’s all that matters now.

That is Tony’s endgame. A list of uncertainties with a coating of lies sprinkled on top. It’s all Tony could do. What he had to.

At the sound of a small groan pushing past Peter’s lips Tony pauses in his actions and takes a glance down at the sleeping form of the boy. Tucked next to him, Peter looks at peace, using Tony’s right leg as a pillow, and clutching close to him like he is scared they’d separate.

Tony noticed this trend a while ago. About the first week in they’d been sleeping in Quill’s bunker. Tony uncomfortably settled on the desk chair, trying to stay upright not to disturb his wound. Peter passed out on the bed. The fur throw rumpled on the floor after Peter showed his disgust with it. But was fine to snuggle in close with the blankets and pillows. Always, glad that Tony was nearby.

This system worked for awhile, both able to keep an eye on each other until the kid started having nightmares. Of what? The vulture, seeing his uncle dying or that mad titan. Honestly, take your pick, but it was enough for Tony to slip into bed with the kid. Scoop back any of the curls off of Peter’s forehead and draw mindless doodles on the kid’s back.

Tony did it to comfort the kid. Nothing more, but against his better judgement he’s grown to care for Peter. It was a _need_ for Tony to make sure the kid is safe and protected. Yet, this act of comforting may have worked a little too well.

Maybe it was the fact that Peter was still a child. Despite him growing over the years Tony had known him. Perhaps it was the fact that just deep down Peter didn’t want to be alone. Not that Tony wanted to be either. It was an unspoken agreement to help each other during their time adrift. Be the company they needed. Be the contentment they needed.

But laying down every night became too much strain on Tony’s wound. It was soon that he couldn’t handle moving around as much, and sleeping horizontal was out of the question.

Now, Tony spent his nights against the cock pit’s wall, his neck and back saw more strain, but he’d make do with it. That pain was nothing compared to his side.

Peter didn't last an hour in Quill’s bunker before returning back to Tony and curling up on the man’s good side. It didn’t matter with Tony’s mild protests or complaints. Peter ignored him and snuggled in closer, closing his eyes.Which lost in defeat Ton gives in and will start to caress his hair back.

Tony didn’t want to admit how much both of them broke down their barriers with each other in such a short period. But he supposed if trapped in space with hardly a chance for survival lines will be crossed.

“Hey,” Tony lifts his hand from the mainframe, placing it instead against Peter’s forehead, wiping away the dampness there. The kid, Tony realized tends to sweat through his sleep. “you didn’t sleep that long.”

“It’s enough,” Peter said, rearranging himself to lay entirely on his back and stare up at Tony. He reaches up and takes the headphone out, pausing whatever song he was listening to. It was Quill’s Zune that nostalgic blast from the past that made Tony laugh when Peter wasn’t sure if it was alien tech or a MP3 player.

“Hm, I’m going to say that no it’s not.” Tony grins, giving Peter a playful glare.

“Aren't you tired?” Peter asks, craning his neck and reaches over to Tony’s side, lifting the gray sweater. Brows furrowed as he inspects the wound.

That was another thing, when it came to Tony’s injuries, personal boundaries flew out the window. The kid practically checks on the wound every hour or so, giving Tony updates on how the infection looks.

They conveniently found some sort of a first aid kit. Although, neither of them could make out the language on the bottles, but Peter still gently places the ointment on the wound.  It’s probably isn’t the smartest thing to be doing, but it helps with numbing the pain sometimes o Tony can’t complain.

“Eh, not really.” He lies, making Peter glance back at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What? You should go back to sleep. There’s a great big beautiful tomorrow and all that shit.”

It makes Peter snort and Tony smiles, resting his palm against the curls at the top of Peter’s head. It had grown out quite a bit and sometimes it remind him of a sheep’s wool.

“Are you quoting Disney lyrics to me?”

It's one of the many games they play, finding the references about what the other was nonchalantly saying. Some flew over Peter’s head where Tony would be puzzled by some.

But if Tony can get Peter to smile or laugh, then it’s a personal victory. Too many times Tony has caught a flash of grief in the boy’s eyes. He doesn’t need to see it on this last day.

“I think you should sleep for a little bit longer.” Tony persists, tapping his finger on the boy’s upturned nose. Who in turn goes crossed eyed and playfully bats Tony’s hand away.

“Not tired,” Peter responds, even though he turns his body on his side to face Tony. “Maybe you could tell me a story?”

Tony frowned, Peter always seemed to ask for stories. Of what? Mostly Tony’s childhood. The kid means no harm in this. He knows the kid is fascinated by Howard Stark probably seeing him in old videos in history class. Probably thinking dear old dad was the best father a boy could have. Peter probably thinks Tony’s childhood was that of a dream.

Except it wasn’t, and honestly Tony didn’t want to relive those days. He doesn’t want to think about the push and pull of his father’s love. The constant competition with a man that was half Tony’s age. That isn’t something Tony wants to relive, especially on his last few hours.

“Hm, I think not, Spider-Boy.” He says, reaching down and squeezing at the boy’s flat stomach, trying to find some skin to hold onto. Except without a proper diet, he and Peter have lost too much weight. You can only go so far with those alien purple egg shaped vegetables. At least that's what Tony hopes are vegetables.

Peter’s laughter rang through the pit as he tries pushing Tony’s hands away, which eggs Tony on as his tickle torture until the kid wiggled away from him.

“Okay, okay!” Peter said breathlessly, wiping his eyes as he pushes himself up into a sitting position, “Let’s play a game instead.”

Tony wiggles an eyebrow, “What game did you have in mind?”

“Twenty questions?” Peter asks, crossing his legs and propping his elbows against his thighs.

“Seriously?” Tony asks, the game is not only designed to dig deep into the opponent's personal lives, but it also is designed to make the player admit to the questions with stories. It was well played by Peter and by the playful smile on the boy’s lips. It’s exactly what the boy wants. “I’m not answering any pressing questions about my current work back home. I have a company I’d like to protect.”

“Awe, you’re no fun.” Peter whines, sticking out his tongue. It makes Tony chuckle at Peter’s natural childlike behavior. This kid shouldn’t be this adorable.

“How about this,” Tony says giving in. “I’ll answer as many questions you throw at me. But I’ll only elaborate if you do the same.”

Peter sucks in the corner of his bottom lip; a habit Tony notices the kid doing a lot for many different reasons. A look of contemplating flashes over Peter’s face and a tint of pink clouds over his cheeks. That Tony plays off as the heat on the ship than anything else.

“Okay, deal.”

Tony knows this is going to be a horrible idea.

“Have you ever dine and dashed?”

“Really? We’re starting with what kind of felonies the other may or may not have committed?”

Peter shrugs, “I know a lot about you, and you know a lot about me. So yeah I’m diving into those personal questions.”

Tony rubs his hand against his face and sighs. This kid is out to play a dangerous game. “Okay, fine. I have multiple times, but that was when I was dumb, drunk and high. So the lesson to take away is to not be like me, kid.”

_Please, don’t ever be like me._

“Noted.” Peter responds, crossing his hands over his chest, “But I should admit. I’ve never done any of that. So I guess I’m like a saint to you or some mary sue.”

_Kid, you have no idea. You’re just truly better than I could ever be._

“You just have a good head on your shoulders.” Tony answers, watching as Peter begins to chew on his chapped lips, “Okay, Pete. What are some of your personal goals?”

Peter rolls his eyes as he tries holding back his laughter, “Questions like that are so boring, Mr. Stark. You already know that. So, ask me some real pressing questions.”

“Fine,” Tony groans, _Well, if he wanted to play._ “Do you have a crush on anyone?”

As soon as it leaves his mouth, Tony feels like a teen girl.

“Yeah, actually I do,” Peter says, cheeks reddening. “How’s your engagement with Miss Potts going?”

“You know that’s a publicity stunt, kid,” Tony responds, continuing his work on the mainframe. “No, actual marriage. Just something to make the people talk.”  Double checks his math and continues, “Who’s the lucky person? Is it that girl that pops up on your stories sometimes on Instagram? Michelle?”

“She goes by MJ,” Peter informs, face becoming a shade of cherry. “It’s not her.” He adds after a moment of silence.

Tony doesn’t have the strength to pry. He knows it would’ve been better if they played paper football. That was always a safe game to play. It was about three months ago Peter had come out to Tony as bi-sexual through a late night pizza excursion in Brooklyn. Pizza sauce running down the kid’s chin, and his eyes widened in fear of Tony’s silence.

But how could Tony ever be disappointed in this kid? Tony had to admit when Peter’s eyes lit up with excitement when Tony admitted that in his own younger years he dabbled with the possibilities of being with both genders. That he’s a long run of being a playboy, he not only dipped his toes with men and females but quenched a thirst for multiple partners. So telling him didn’t affect him viewing Peter at all. If anything Tony was honored that the kid shared this with him.

Though it’s odd that Peter became silent on who he has a crush on. Tony won’t know who it was regardless if it’s from the boy’s school or somewhere else. Unless…

“You don’t have a crush on Miss Potts do you?”

“What?!?” Peter asks, smiling wide and shaking his head, “No, no. Not Miss Potts. Um-”

He falls silent again not daring to look at Tony’s face which brings red flags to cross the man’s mind. He needs to change the subject, because regardless of his small suspicions. Both of them didn’t need to bring light on that possibility. Tony will stomp on that before it’s even passing the kids lips.

“It’s your turn to ask me a question.”

Relief floods across Peter’s face, looking back up at Tony and asks, “Why do you call me, kid?”

It takes a moment for Tony to realize the question and he smiles slightly, bringing his hand to his face, “I actually don’t really know why. I think I do it unconsciously sometimes. Why does it upset you?”

Tony watches Peter shake his head. The curls dance across his forehead, “It doesn’t really. Especially at first, but-” He fiddles at the sleeve which makes Tony stare closely at how the boy’s body changes like he is trying to hide. “I don’t know it sort of does now.”

They needed to stop playing this game.

“I can stop,” Tony tells him. “I’ll stick with Pete or Peter if you’d prefer.”

Peter’s lips turn upward as he smiles slightly, still focusing on the task of messing with his sleeve. The collar of the sweater is large enough to slip over his shoulder, and it takes most of Tony’s strength not to reach over and fix it before it falls.

“Y-yeah, actually that’s fine. I was going to ask if, like, if you see me as your son or something-”

Peter stops mid-way face reddening as he quickly shoots his hands upward, twisting his wrists back and forth. “That’s not what I meant to say out loud; I’m sorry Mr. Stark.”

“Pete, it’s fine.” Tony says, shrugging slightly, “Honestly, maybe a little. But it’s just something I got used to saying. There’s a bond we have definitely, but I don’t necessarily think it’s a father-son relationship.”

Relief floods Peter’s face again. His shoulders roll unconsciously, and the dark sweater slips downward, revealing the pale skin underneath. Too much skin. Tony should’ve lied. He should’ve stopped the game sooner. This was going to get out of hand.

“Can I ask another question? I know it’s your turn but-” Peter pulls the sweater back up in his shoulder and inches closer to Tony.

_Suggest paper football. He’ll stop with the questions. Anything just don’t let him say it out loud. This will be too much._

“Pete, I’m all questioned out-”

“Wait, just one more.” Peter persists, “If-if that’s okay?”

_What if it isn’t what you’re thinking? Peter’s so incredibly innocent he’ll probably admit about his hero worship he has. It won’t mean anything. It’s harmless._

“What?” Tony asks, repositioning his legs.

“You promise to answer me truthfully?”

_Lie if you have to._

“I’ll try.”

Peter cranes his neck backward towards the single pod then back at Tony. “The pod, there’s only enough power to generate one body to ride in it. Isn’t there?”

There’s a comfort for a moment between Tony being thankful that it isn’t what he expects Peter to say, to the realization that his past mistakes are thrown at him full force.

“Yeah, Pete." Tony couldn't lie to him anymore, "It’s only for you.”

**. . .**

“Bullshit!”

Until now, Peter’s hasn’t spoken in pessimistic tones. His vowels and constants were wrapped in optimism and joyful sounds. He tried his best to be compliant for Mr. Stark’s sake and his crumbling mind. But what is meant for a harmless game, shatters what is left of his cotton candy filter.

A small part of him knew this pod was going to only his way home, but there was also a part of him thinking there was room for the pair of them. Scared that if he fought Mr. Stark on this, then the last week or so of the constant comfort and games that passed the time would be gone.

“You can’t make these decisions by yourself, and this isn’t something only you get to decide.” Peter’s voice cracks as he tries to compose himself, “You said that we’d go home together. You promised me.”

Mr. Stark closes his eyes, like he does when he’s exhausted or irritated and says, “Yes, but things change. And by the way, you also promised me that you’d listen to me no matter what.”

Everything positive left Peter and what took its place is a fit of pure unyielding anger. “eff that!”

Mr. Stark pauses in his efforts to rub his face and glare over at Peter. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t mean th-” He breaks off he’s anger flaring again. “No I did, eff that!”

Mr. Stark’s eyes darken and Peter tries his best not to look away, “I’m sorry, but. That’s just bullshit. I’m not going to agree to this.” He says, looking towards the pod then back at the man, “You’re essentially asking me to let you commit suicide while I sail off. What were you going to do? Lie until the very last minute and make it out like some cheesy drama film?”

“Peter-”

“No, I’m not going to let you do this.” Peter begins to stand, wrestling with his sweater to stay on his shoulders, “If we can’t leave here together then neither us are going anywhere.”

“Peter don’t start-”

But Peter jumps right in to talk over him, “Mr. Stark, I can’t let you do this!” He bends down and wrestles the main frame from the man’s hands. It’s not a struggle on Peter’s part, but it’s enough to see the older man’s face break in desperation.

“Peter, don’t you dare mess with my work.”

“I’m only fixing it,” Peter answers inspecting the pod. He has no idea where he should start.

“I’m not kidding, Peter. Get back over here, now.” Mr. Stark shouts, making Peter jump backward from the pod like it electrocuted him.

“I’m fixing it!” Peter snaps back, his heart sinking when he sees Mr. Stark try to get up on his own, but falls back down with a groan.

“Why are you getting up?” Peter asks, almost abandoning his task.

Mr. Stark doesn’t respond only pulls himself up again and groans out his pain.

He can't watch Mr. Stark do that to himself.

“Stop!” Peter drops the mainframe, ignoring the crash as he rushes to get to the man, “You’re hurting yourself! We don’t want the infection to keep spreading remember?”

Mr. Stark doesn’t respond and wraps a hand around both of Peter’s wrists in a tight bond. He yanks Peter down to the floor with him. It shouldn’t work but it does and now with Peter’s knees throbbing on either side of the older man’s waist and his wrists locked in the man’s tight embrace. He’s forced to stare at the man’s anguished face.

“We’re going to talk about this like adults, Peter.” Mr. Stark says, voice low and more profound than what Peter is used to. This happened before on a rooftop just above the Staten Island Ferry.

“You’re the one that stowed away on that doughnut of a ship. A place where I didn’t want you, and now look at where we found ourselves?” This isn’t like the cartoons you watched as a kid. Or the comics you read. This is real life, okay? Do you understand that?”

“Yes, sir. I do but-”

“No, you’re going on that pod and going home damn it, because of shit.” Mr. Stark releases Peter’s hands, “I love you alright? Fuck! I have to protect you.” Mr. Stark wipes his face down as his eyes watered. “I can’t let you die out here, okay? I just can’t.”

Peter’s eyes fill with tears as he takes in what the man admits, “When did you plan on me leaving?”

Mr. Stark sighs, rubbing his face against his hand, “Tomorrow.”

“This isn’t fair,” Peter admits, knowing it is such a childish answer, but he can’t stop himself from saying it.

He stares at the man’s broken face as he begins to cry. Harsh broken sobs escaping his mouth as Mr. Stark moves forward to embrace him, trying to hush him quiet. His fingers are rubbing into Peter’s shoulders and making affirmative sounds that he agreed that the world is inherently unfair.  

Peter keeps his head on Mr. Stark’s shoulder. Eyes squeezed firmly shut as if it would hold everything in which turns into a joke. He still cried, if not harder.

“Hey, I’m going to stop you right there.” Mr. Stark hushes him placing a hand against Peter’s back, “Don’t waste your tears on an old tinkerer like me. I have a job for you when you get back to Earth.”

Peter shakes his head and shoves the man slightly, “You can do it yourself. You’re coming back with me.” Peter’s voice cracks as he rubs his face in the crook of Mr. Stark’s neck.

“Nope, nope.” Mr. Stark says, pulling Peter back and cupping his face in his warm hands. Peter can barely see the man in front of him through his tears. His chest is aching as he holds onto the cries he wants to tear from his throat.

“You’re one of the best things that have ever happened to me. Did you know that? The best. You’re so much better than I could ever be. You’re my legacy Peter, you. You’re going to do such amazing things. The world will be a better place because of you.”

“I don’t want it. I don’t-” But Peter can’t stop the pressure, and he lets out a wail as he covers his eyes.

“Hey, let’s play paper football at the table. Think you could help me back up?”

“No.” Peter shakes his head and pulls the man closer to him, forehead resting against the man’s chest.

“We can play music on the stereo again? There’s probably enough juice for a couple of songs. I promise I won’t play anymore Black Sabbath.”

Peter doesn’t respond, scrubbing his eyes to get rid of the wetness, but it only made room for more tears to take its place.

“Peter.” Mr. Stark says, his voice warm with affection as he fingers through Peter’s hair. “Then we can play the question game again. Or play whatever game you want to. Come on let’s go back to us messing around and being goofy. That’s my one request, please?”

Mr. Stark lets Peter cry out on his shoulder. Doesn’t make a sound for the exception of kind words and the slight doodles he draws on Peter’s back. It works him raw and it reduces Peter to slight snivels. His face is wet with his tears and snot as Mr. Stark pulled him back to wipe them dry with his sweater covered hand.

“No, more crying, please.” Mr. Stark tells him. Practically begging him to stop. “Let’s play a game.”

“I don’t want to, Mr. Stark.”

“I know, sweetheart. But just do this for me.”

Peter tries to nod his head, hiccuping back the pressure and the older man hushes him softly.

“You going to be alright? Ready?”

Peter not daring to look at Mr. Stark’s tear streaked face mumbles out a, “okay.”

“Favorite color?”

Peter cringes the grief flooding in again. Mr. Stark already knew this, so why did he want to keep playing? This wasn’t going to change anything.

“Blue.” Peter says, rubbing his nose. He knows he can’t form long sentences without crying again so he parrots the same question, “Yours?”

“Red.”

Mr. Stark continues to rub at Peter’s back the sensations making him slip into a haze of comfort.

“I was going to ask you your favorite food, but I think it’s probably Thai or those sandwiches near your place.”

Peter notices he hands laying on of Mr. Stark’s thighs. Almost shocked that the man didn’t brush him off. When Mr. Stark’s eyes follows Peter’s he places his hands on top of his. Despite the calloused fingers and dryness in this void. The man’s hands are warm and inviting.

Peter takes a deep breath, letting his nerves calm down a fraction. “Mr. Stark, I have to tell you something.”

He wiggles his hand out of Mr. Stark’s and reaches down to take the Zune, untangling the earphones.

“You know you never can go wrong with a good cheeseburger and a shake.” Mr. Stark says, just as his stomach growls. “I shouldn’t be talking about food should I?”

Peter shook his head, placing the ear bud in Tony’s ear as gently as he could. Then adding the opposite bud into his own.

“What’re you doing, Pete?”

He doesn’t respond only flips through the many selections of songs. He finds what he’s looking for and lets his thumb hover over the play button. He looks back upward at the confused expression on Mr. Stark’s face and hits play.

_He has to know._

Peter lets the song play the few strums of melodic instruments and places his hands on either side of Tony’s face. The realization hitting the older man immediately.

“Mr. Star- Tony, the person I really care about, the one I have a crush on is you. Can we just-?”

The first line of lyrics ring throughout both Peter’s and Tony’s ears. Tony falls silent as he watches with wide eyes as Peter gets closer. He can feel the man’s breath against his lips. The warmth from his body that Peter is so used to now. How he craves for it.

“I want to kiss you, Tony.” Peter runs a hand through Tony’s hair careful not to pull the growing stands. “Let me please kiss you.”

_~For I can’t help falling in love with you._

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know you're thoughts! Thank you for taking the time to read!


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